by Andy Roberts
‘There’s someone coming.’ Nolaan pointed his sword at the figures emerging from the mist. He had his three remaining men stand at his side. ‘We’ll keep them off you for as long as we can,’ he said, ‘but you’d better find yourselves somewhere safe to cross soon.’
Philly shook her head. ‘It can’t be?’ She watched as the mist cleared—shooed away by the triumphant, Angry Wind.
Griff lowered Nolaan’s sword hand. ‘Molly?’ He called her name and couldn’t help but sob. Next came Pew and behind him, the huge frame of Watty. The smithy walked with an arm resting on the farmhand’s shoulder, steering him towards the circle of greystones. Griff stepped in front of his wife and threw his arms open wide, but she walked straight through him and said not a word. He called to her, told her how very sorry he was for not being there when she needed him most. But still she didn’t answer, and Watty went by without sharing a joke.
‘He’s calling them to their graves,’ Philly said. ‘The druid’s putting them to rest.’
Griff watched as Tamulan directed the walking dead towards a trilithon each—had them stand in waiting for the moment when he killed the Dragon Lord.
Chapter
— 34 —
‘You’ve come to die,’ Am-Thamnoch said in his mother tongue, his head tilted to one side, weary after loosing his foolish ally. His hair caught on an unfamiliar wind, lengths of blue, black and white trailing behind him.
‘We meet one last time,’ the druid assured him, he too speaking in the tongue of their forefathers. The sun had cleared the distant hills and from its low vantage point threw long shadows across the grass of the inner circle. Tamulan stepped onto his own and followed as it made its way towards the Dragon Lord. Am-Thamnoch bent and lifted a broken link that was as round as a diner plate He tossed it almost playfully, the druid stepping aside to let it fall harmlessly to the floor. Am-Thamnoch leaned again and this time came up quickly with a length of chain that he cracked overhead like a rancher’s whip.
Brae ran to Watty and tugged at his shirt, took his hand away and cleaned the blood from it on his soaking wet trousers. He called at the smithy—shouted even, though his mentor didn’t seem to notice. He tried Molly and next, Pew. Even Girl was uncharacteristically quiet.
The chain whirred above Am-Thamnoch’s head, each rotation letting it out that little bit nearer the waiting Eiyl. That’s what he was again now. Not Tamulan Thrysk, but Eiyl—the Arch-Druid. He’d been sent to kill the Dragon Lord, had sworn to not let the remainder of his kind die. But events at Brindmere could not have been changed—no matter who did what—that was just the way of things. Tamulan opened his clenched fist and sent the burning ember towards the Dragon Lord, its mass increasing like that of a snowball descending a hill. Am-Thamnoch roared with anger as the chain was knocked from his grasp, its coiled form hissing and spewing steam in the long, wet grass. He retaliated with his own flame, one that the Eiyl bent around him, sending it crashing against a tall greystone with enough force to make the megalith lean.
For a moment, Brae thought the stone was going to lose its footing and come crashing down on him. He pushed against it with his shoulder, supported it as though that might make a difference, all the while knowing that his actions were utterly ridiculous. He inched his head around the side of it, tried to get sight of what was happening and wondered if there was anything that he might do to help the druid. He saw them both locked in a binding of light that was so white it hurt his eyes and drained the surrounding land of all its colour. The energy from it crackled like a forest fire, two beams squashed to a flattened disc above the middle-ground.
The awful noise had Gendrick wake just then. He rolled onto his side and cleared his eyes. He saw Dragon Lord and druid locked in battle—and the boy who was so far unaware of him. The minister crawled, keeping low, using the rise and fall of the terrain to his full advantage. He edged closer and grabbed for the boy’s trailing foot.
Tamulan turned his head at the sound of Brae’s call, it was only for a fleeting moment, but good men have been killed in far less time. Am-Thamnoch took his opportunity and unfurled a pair of wings that until then had been hidden from sight. The Dragon Lord’s heavy scales rode tightly over one-another like the protective shields of a military phalanx. Am-Thamnoch ran at the Eiyl, building speed, beating his wings and spewing scorching flame as he rose from the ground and passed overhead. Tamulan went to his knees and pulled his clothing tight to his body. The heat was searing, even through the protective layer of the oil-cloth cloak. He didn’t move, to have done so would have meant certain death. He kneeled and waited for the beast to pass. Am-Thamnoch rose above the stones, high above the druid as he chased across the centre of the circle, passing over the minister and teenager as they wrestled on the floor.
‘It’s coming this way.’ Nolaan grabbed at Philly and warned the others to protect themselves. The Dragon Lord passed low, spewing a scorching stream of hot flame in its path. A soldier panicked and tried to run, and was incinerated almost immediately—no time to scream.
‘What do we do?’ Philly asked, retching at the smell of burned flesh and vegetation.
‘Get in the water,’ Griff said, ‘it’s the only way we’ll survive this.’ He pushed at her while the creature turned in the distance.
Brae punched and kicked at him, but Gendrick was heavier and stronger too. The minister struck him hard, drawing blood from a split lip, put his knees on the boy’s shoulders and hit again. Brae thought he might lose consciousness, wasn’t entirely convinced that he was seeing right, but nonetheless reached for the blade that protruded from the minister’s ankle holster. Gendrick was too preoccupied to notice at first, and then, when he did, it was already too late. Brae thrust the blade up under the ribcage and withdrew it to let the wound better bleed. Gendrick’s eyes opened wide and then shut again just as quickly. He slumped to one side, dead, yet unable to quite reach the floor. Brae pushed the body off him and felt something warm on his clothing. He put his hand to it and saw that it was wet and red with blood. At first he thought it was Gendrick’s, and only a moment later realised what he’d done. He’d read of bindings and realised too late that his opportunistic impulse had killed not only the minister, but himself also. He saw Molly, Pew and Watty standing like sentries at their individual stones. They turned to him and motioned that he join them. He stood and let the knife fall to the floor, took a deep breath and went to rejoin his family.
Griff grabbed at a thick branch and used it to lower himself into the water. It was as cold as anything he could remember. The river swept his leg from under him. He called to the others, grabbing at Philly as she entered and pulled her close. Even with his head completely submerged, Nolaan could feel the intense heat and see the blinding light. Griff saw a soldier snatched away by the current, waving madly and swallowing copious amounts of water as he shouted for help. The soldier hit a rock and spun, went under and didn’t resurface as far as anyone there could tell.
With the wind-riders all gone, Tamulan called Windsong. She came out of the clouds, kept low and stayed out of reach of the Dragon Lord. She folded her wings on contact with the soft ground, her slender body quickly taking on its alternate form. Tamulan reached inside his cloak and took the one remaining quarrel from his back-strap. He loaded it and made his way to the centre of the circle.
Griff had them lower their heads for the umpteenth time as the Dragon Lord approached from the hillside. ‘I can’t,’ Philly said spitting water. ‘No more.’ Griff pushed her head under and held it there waiting for the searing heat to come again. He resurfaced when it didn’t and saw the Dragon Lord headed towards the greystones. He called to Brae, all the while watching the boy wander aimlessly towards Girl. The mad woman was playing something on an instrument that had her purse her lips and puff her cheeks while her fingers moved quickly just ahead of her mouth.
‘What the hell is he doin’?’ Griff asked. ‘Get out of there you stupid boy.’
Tamulan saw the Dr
agon Lord approach and knew that he’d get one chance only. Too many good people had given their lives to make this happen. If he failed now, then he’d fail them all. He aimed at the missing scale, the plate of armour that should have protected the dragon’s heart. He exhaled and barely touched the trigger, releasing the quarrel into the air. He whispered to Windsong, and watched the broadhead rotate as it went. It found its target and impacted with a loud thud, the Dragon Lord pulling up suddenly, the very act causing him to lose lift beneath his wings and come crashing to the ground. Tamulan wasted no time in closing the distance between them as his foe pushed at the ground with broken wings. He swiped at the druid but missed—tried again as his lava-like blood poured from the hole in his chest. The Dragon Lord slumped, defeated by the druid who had sworn to kill him.
Tamulan slumped to his knees, Windsong on the ground at his side. He saw Brae march towards Girl, drawn by a tune that only they could hear.
As the boy went by, he held out a hand and passed something to the druid. ‘For the Gods,’ he said. ‘When the right time comes.’ Tamulan opened his hand and let his thumb slide across the surface of a coin stained with the blood of an Alu.
Griff had nothing left to live for and let his battered body slip quietly into the water. He grabbed for no branch and made no attempt to swim. Philly shouted at him and ran along the bank trying to keep him in sight. Nolaan went with her, but the innkeeper was already lost to them. She looked to the heavens and screamed uncontrollably. She lowered her head, too numb even to cry. They were lost. All except the druid. She looked to the stones but he was no longer there.
‘He’s got him,’ Nolaan said pointing to the riverbank, downstream. They ran as fast as the mud would allow, slipping and sliding in it, almost taken by the river themselves. They grabbed at Griff and hauled him out onto the mud.
Tamulan waved them away as they reached for him. ‘See to the innkeeper,’ he told them.
Philly dropped to her knees. She pumped Griff’s chest, told him to live, and then gave him her air.
Chapter
— 35 —
They rested him lightly on a cot of his own, Griff standing over them, making sure that they did so. Brae looked peaceful, dreaming only good dreams as they approached the Strait of the Gods. They’d carried his body all the way from the greystones, the innkeeper insisting throughout that he be allowed to take his own turn.
‘His was the only body there when we checked,’ Nolaan told Elyon when they’d first got back to the ship. ‘The magic must have claimed the others.’ He shrugged, not knowing why that might be.
‘He’d have given us some interesting fact about this bit,’ Philly said. ‘Something he’d read in a library book, or such like.’ Griff nodded. It was difficult to know the exact cause of his wet eyes. The wind whipping off the sea perhaps? Or maybe a fond memory or two? Philly pulled him close and decided that it was almost certainly a fair amount of both.
‘So how goes this?’ Elyon asked having never before negotiated such a tricky stretch of water. ‘The water’s bubbling a right fury in the strait.’ It was true, there was no way the Vanguard could get through without capsizing. Lodan fumed, watching them as they held still at anchor. Amaethon grinned, though it might just have been the angle from which they viewed him.
‘Take us closer.’ Tamulan stood at the prow, clearly untroubled by the foaming water.
Elyon held his hand aloft and wagged his finger in circles. ‘Raise anchor,’ he called to his crew. ‘Steady as she goes.’ No-one questioned him as the rusted chunk of iron was pulled free of the seabed. Another fifty feet or so further on and the ocean would have no floor to grasp.
A wind came just then, gentle as it puffed at the sails, nudging the Vanguard nearer the feet of the waiting Gods. Elyon looked to the druid and saw him reach deep into his pocket.
Tamulan ran his thumb across the raised surface of the coin, Brae’s blood showing no sign of drying still.
‘What’s he doin’ up there?’ Griff sat on his own, waiting for the Gods to send them to a watery grave. He’d soon be with his Molly—Pew and his dear brother too.
The druid put the coin to his lips and spoke to it in a verse or two of Gnognethi, before tossing it into the sea.
‘They’re letting us through,’ Nolaan said quietly.
Elyon shook his head. ‘We’re not there yet.’ He checked clearance both sides of the hull and had the quartermaster make the necessary adjustments on the wheel.
Philly moved closer to Nolaan. ‘He gave them something they both wanted equally. For Amaethon—it’s the purity of Brae’s blood.’
The commander nodded. ‘And Lodan has an item that once belonged to the Dragon Lord.’ The outstretched arms of the Gods shifted position, Good forcing his will upon the Evil. The statues came to a halt, frozen in a new pose, Lodan leaning away from the silent victor.
‘Now we’re through,’ the captain told them.
‘And it’s about time too.’ Brae stood in the doorway of the stairwell, a smug grin on his face. ‘Gave them my druid’s coin so I did.’
Griff scrambled upright, crying and laughing all at once. ‘How?’
Brae looked towards the druid. ‘Because it’s the way of things,’ they both said as one.
Elyon had his crew steer a course that took them around the rugged coast and into the dock of Randor. Nobody came to greet them when they got there, because no-one had expected the Vanguard to return. But word spread faster than gossip in the city, a runner dispatched to the Senate forthwith.
— Spring—
Winter tried but failed again, new shoots arrive to heal the pain.
Chapter
— 36 —
The celebratory feast was over, the speeches and awards almost complete. Chancellor Gelfroy had one final dignitary to welcome to the stage. Professor Munge held a parchment scroll in his hand and waited for the applause to settle. His eyes wandered along the front row of the audience, settling on a face that was now recognised by everyone within the room. The Professor cleared his throat and then as head of the university spoke in a voice that was confident and well accustomed to such public address. ‘It is my honour to offer the Jerrals’ Scholarship in Arcineering to Brae Nolg, for his services to our fine city.’
‘You’re goin’ to university, so you are,’ Griff said slapping him on the back as though he were choking on a piece of his meat pie. Brae couldn’t take the grin off his face and several artists were already in the courtyard, sketching him for the morning newspapers.
Tamulan knocked the dust off his boots and fastened the buckles on his shoulder bag. ‘They’re always with you,’ he said. ‘Even though you can no longer see them.’ Griff offered his hand. The druid took it and then raised his hood and turned to leave.
‘Wait,’ Philly called after him. ‘You can’t just go.’
‘It’s what I do,’ he said repositioning Windsong.
‘Bollocks it is,’ Griff said loud enough to turn more than a couple of heads.
‘You have a family now,’ Brae told him.
‘Us,’ Philly said pulling at the sleeve of his cloak.
‘Besides,’ Griff said tugging at his beard. ‘Can’t go before you’ve helped us sort out those Salamanders, now can you?’
— The End —
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Oak Knower Chronicles (The Druids, Dragons and Demons Series Book 1)
